


In the Belly of the Night

by 3BeesAndCoffee3



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Cuba, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Post-Canon: After the Fall, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Hannibal Lecter, Talk of Suicide, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3BeesAndCoffee3/pseuds/3BeesAndCoffee3
Summary: Hannibal awakens to find Will gone.(I just need more soft Hanni in my life ok)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 174





	In the Belly of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> PLZ NOTE THE TAGS: WARNING FOR MILD THOUGHTS/CONSIDERATION OF SUICIDE
> 
> I wrote this at 3am. I just needed more soft Hannibal and a dash of angst, for flavour.

Hannibal’s head is still muddled with sleep when he stirs, stretches out his limbs, joints popping. The sheets are soft and cool against his skin, the air outside is hot and humid at the peak of summer, sweltering even at night. He rolls onto his side, legs splayed comfortably, his hand reaching out and finding empty bed. He opens his eyes slowly, only half awake as he assesses the otherwise empty bed. It’s still late, the room cast in shadow, the fan on high. He reaches out again, despite seeing the rest of the bed lays empty, sheets bunched and folded. 

Perhaps, if he wasn’t quite so drowsy, having only just roused from a heavy sleep, the more rational, controlled part of his brain would respond. Instead, the ugly, panicked side rears its head and Hannibal sits up in bed, looking around the room, searching. 

The room is empty aside from himself, and the en suite bathrooms light is off, door still open half way. 

He’s grown used to waking up with Will at his side, sharing space and gentle touches. More often than not, they gravitate towards each other in the night, even in the dizzying, sticky heat of summer, they find themselves wrapped around one another, limbs tangled together. Waking up alone is jarring now, wrong. It’s only more unsettling because Hannibal hadn’t gone to bed alone. Will had fallen asleep before Hannibal, both reading, the bedside lamp on. Hannibal had pulled the book from Will’s lax hands once his head lulled and his breathing deepened, making it apparent he’d fallen asleep. He had tucked him in, brushed the curls from his face, carful not to wake him. 

When Will doesn’t appear before him in the time it takes for his brain to do a rerun of the nights events, he swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, swallows down a lump of anxiety. Since coming to Cuba, there’s been a closeness between them, though often unspoken. The fall had left them dependant on each other in ways that didn’t leave room for argument or coyness. He had tended to Will’s fevered mind, reset his broken arm, fed him, and in turn Will helped Hannibal bathe as his legs healed, helped sooth the ache of his torn muscles. Hannibal had always been utterly fascinated by Will, building empires for him if only to see how he’ll destroy them. Will had grown steadily closer, too. It was a much slower climb than it was for Hannibal, but through anger and betrayal grew dependancy and trust. 

There’s a part of Hannibal’s mind that races with foul possibilities he isn’t sure he can stomach. If this was all a rouse, waiting and playing his cards so skilfully, like Hannibal knows Will has before; pretended and toyed until Will was strong enough and stable enough to slip away, either to escape to his own broken life from before in Wolf Trap, if anything remains, or to cast himself back into the sea, finishing things as he’d so meant to do before- Hannibal cannot accept either. It makes his stomach sour, coiling tight with discomfort. It’s not a feeling he’s used to, and not one he wants to familiarize himself with. 

He pulls himself out of bed, dressed only in briefs, due to the humidity of the night, his usual pyjamas forgotten in favour of comfort. The house is so still and so silent that Hannibal is utterly positive he’s already alone, that Will left hours before. He doesn’t know if he has the strength to search for him, isn’t sure if he has the strength to find himself alone, knowing Will’s trust had been so cleverly faked. Even still, Hannibal can’t _leave him_ either. If Will is gone, Hannibal will leave too, by any means. 

“Will?” Hannibal calls out, voice rough and tired. The dread boiling under his skin, the surety that their separation is unbearable, unliveable- it’s quickly sobering. He isn’t very loud, but the night is so still that his voice echos in his ears. There’s no response, only the hum of the fan, the house settling. 

Hannibal crosses the room quickly, pulls on his robe as he leaves the master bedroom. There’s a chill on his skin, though he isn’t cold. The hallway is just as dark as the rest of the house, only lit by the moon, casting shadows and thin streams of light through big, open windows. The house isn’t large, nothing compared to any of his older estates, but it was what Hannibal had comfortably considered home for well over a year now. He’d perhaps foolishly, thought Will had considered it the same. 

The living room is just as empty as the hallway, and the kitchen following suit. Hannibal grips the edge of the counter, feels far too strongly in ways he can’t understand, isn’t sure he wants to. God himself could not create a better counterpart for Hannibal than Will, could not sculpt such perfection. Will has always fascinated him, but it’s more now, it’s the understanding that being apart is far worse than dying, that without Will, he’s finished with his life here, as fruitful as it’s been. Will is his finale, one he had no intentions of cutting short. 

He’s never considered how he would end his own life, if Will were to leave him no other choice. It’s not something he’s ever put much thought into, but he thinks he would go with convenience above all else. He’s not overly sentimental over his own end, has embraced it a thousand times before. He isn’t afraid of death. He thinks he might be scared of living without _life,_ though.

The tile under his feet is cool, curls his toes against the granite. He tries to steady himself. If Will has left him, he needs to be level headed to approach what he might do next. 

“Hannibal?”

He turns so quickly he almost trips himself, still grasping at the counter. Will’s standing in the entryway to the kitchen, an empty water glass in his hands. His hair is tousled from sleep, even messier than it is when he’s awake, and he’s dressed in a pair of loose boxers and a t-shirt. He looks tired, dark bruising under his eyes that beg for rest. 

“Are you okay?” Will asks, his voice is deep, that rumble he always gets when he’s tired. He looks confused, hovers in the doorway like he isn’t sure what to do. 

Hannibal could sink to the floor with the weight that lifts itself from his chest. He refuses to believe he reacted rashly, though that’s all they’ve ever been, is rash and impossible. He straightens himself, snaps back into his usual self, even as his nerves still feel frayed, and gives a small smile that’s only forced in its perception. “Yes, I’m fine. Where did you go?” Hannibal asks, tries to level himself. He doesn’t want to worry Will, spill the inner workings of his apparently desperate and paranoid mind. 

“Just outside,” Will yawns, rubs at his face with his free hand. “I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“You should have woken me,” Hannibal frowns, wonders if he managed to sleep heavily enough to ignore the thrashing and whining that comes with Will’s nightmares. They’re often less severe than they had been before, and more infrequent, but Will still sometimes wakes from nightmares, breathless and dazed, sweat soaked and trembling besides Hannibal. 

Will chuckles lightly, finally walks into the kitchen, an invisible line crossed that makes Hannibal ease slightly. Things are unchanged, there’s still security and comfort in this life they’ve made. “You looked comfortable,” he says with a half shrug, passing Hannibal to place his glass in the sink. Hannibal watches him, entranced. “And snoring.”

Hannibal cocks an eyebrow at him and Will gives him a little grin, leaning against the sink. 

“What’re you doin’ up, though?” Will asks, looks like he could fall asleep standing up. There’s the slightest drawl to his voice when he’s tired or just woken up, nearly unnoticeable. Hannibal wonders if Will even knows. 

“I came to find you,” Hannibal says honestly, humming. 

“Sorry,” Will smiles somewhat sheepishly. There’s sand still stuck to parts of his bare feet from standing at the small beach outside their house, smells faintly of seawater underneath his usual scent. “I’m here.”

“Come back to bed?” Hannibal offers, can’t help but feel desperate for him to agree. It feels as though it’s been ages since he last felt Will under his touch. He extends a hand for him and Will nods, takes it. Their fingers tangle, the calloused pads of Will’s fingers rubbing and toying at Hannibal’s knuckles. It’s a familiar pattern, their fingers laced together, but neither of them have spoken about it, ventured the question of what they are. Hannibal knows what he would say, though. 

Soul mates sounds silly, though. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, follows drowsily behind Hannibal back to their bedroom. 

“Do you think you’ll sleep?” Hannibal asks. If not, he’ll draw a bath for Will, join him if he allows it. 

“I think so, yeah,” Will nods, trying to kick off the excess sand before they make it to the room. “I just needed a minute.”

“Of course,” Hannibal nods, though he wishes he could understand why Will hadn’t woken him, hadn’t found that comfort in his company, but he tries not to let it wound him. Hannibal leads Will into the room, turns and looks him over. “Aren’t you warm?” 

Will smiles tiredly. “A bit,” he says, tugs off his shirt and discards it on the floor, forgotten. 

Hannibal hums, pulls Will close to his chest, feels the curve of his spine under his fingers, his skin radiating warmth. He feels along every scar, ever bump. Will melts against him, shivers, goosebumps pebbling on his skin. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Will asks quietly, presses a gentle kiss to the juncture of Hannibal’s neck. 

“Perfectly fine,” Hannibal assures, and he is now, feels contentment settle low in his belly with Will held close, tangible and tired enough to let Hannibal be a bit possessive and doting. It’s not the kind of intimacy they often share. “Let’s return to bed, hm?”

Will hums his agreement, only pulls away when Hannibal does. Hannibal climbs into bed on his side after discarding his robe, pulls the covers back neatly for Will to slide in next to him. Their bodies slot together, Hannibal’s fingers once again returning to Will’s skin, tracing over the scar across his forehead, petting his curls. It’s too warm for this, their bodies are hot and sticky with humidity, but neither pull away, only move closer until they’re practically one. He thinks he would sooner die than fall back asleep without having Will secured at his side. 

Will kisses Hannibal’s palm when he combs through his hair, he can feel Will smile against his skin. Hannibal watches him silently, head propped up on his pillow. Will yawns, nestles impossibly closer, their feet tangling under the covers. He watches as his eyes grow heavy, fluttering shut, eyelashes grazing his cheek. He looks angelic. 

“Goodnight, Will,” Hannibal hums, lets his own eyes close. They’ll wake tomorrow and it will return to their usual dynamic, with Hannibal’s composure and finesse as professional and unbroken as always, and Will’s annoyance and lack of physical affection will be equally frustrating as it is endearing. Tonight, though, Hannibal lets himself bask in the vulnerability that only shows in nights like this.


End file.
